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Title: The walk of a man called death

by Jake from Hampshire and Isle of Wight | in writing, fiction


The harsh sun blazed down menacingly on the sands surrounding Hellshore prison. The heat was unbearable, in the mid thirties at least. Not a cloud could be seen in the sky, offering no shade to comfort the dozens of prisoners that looked like a sea of orange jumpsuits as they smashed at granite boulders with pick axes, their feet chained together to prevent any escape attempts. From far enough away, the group could be mistaken as a kind of strange mirage swaying to and fro in the hazy air.

A large, windowless prison van crawled painfully slowly past the reinforced steel gates at the entrance of the compound. It slowed to a stop outside one of the tall, gray prison buildings.
There was an official government warning sign bolted to the back door of the van, it read: "Danger, the prisoner held in this van is extremely dangerous. In the event of an escape for your own safety DO NOT attempt to approach or confront him without armed personnel in the near vicinity." A Texas government official had signed the plaque as if the notice itself wasn't reason enough to avoid the van.

Two prison officers with 9mm automatic pistols strapped to their belts opened the van while a third officer escorted the van's solo passenger out and tightly handcuffed him. The man was short yet lean and muscular. His piercing blue eyes took in their surroundings within seconds. Six days worth of untidy brown beard covered most of his mouth and chin. His tanned and burnt skin fitted well into the desert, his cloves however, did not. He was dressed in a orange jumpsuit that was identical to those worn by the other prisoners, complete with heavy leather boots and red cap. The clothes were several sizes too big for him and as a result the sleeves had required rolling up to allow his hands to be cuffed and a piece of cheap rope had been tied around his waist to prevent the jumpsuit bottoms falling down.

The man allowed the guards to lead him away towards the prison building without complaint. When a guard began taunting and remarking about his crimes the prisoner shot him a glare that would have scared a mountain lion and said curtly 'Watch it mate, you could easily be next'. The guard shut up instantly.

Whilst he was being marched the man took in quick details of the prison site. The area of land the compound occupied was at least three square miles, surrounded by a neat circle of barbed wire and electric fencing that cooped the prisoners together like battery hens. The main cell building was typical of this sort of place, six stories of solid concrete, with at least fifty tiny barred windows along each side.
The guards quarters were somewhat more luxury, the building would have looked more at home on an industrial estate then the grounds of a high security prison. It was a huge slab of steel and glass housing around a hundred guards, each room complete with its own kitchen and en-suit bathroom. Dotted around the grounds were guard towers, each with two or more guards with long range weapons that dared a prisoner to step out of line. An enormous radio tower stood in the very centre of the grounds, dwarfing the other buildings as it towered above them.

As the man was led into the main building and down the many rows of cells, heads turned to face him and a hearty, joking cheer of 'Welcome back!' met his ears. The man couldn't stifle a small chuckle, it seemed he'd been missed. He was starting to enjoy the little welcome call when a sheep noise flew his way. The prisoner grunted and took a mental note: Prisoner 1374, if we meet again, you'll be leaving with fewer limbs. If there was one thing the man hated, it was someone mocking his Welsh heritage. He'd even killed over it before now.

After about ten minutes of walking down corridors and up flights of stairs they arrived at a familiar place. His cell, the one he had spent four years of a life sentence in and was about to spend the last few hours of his life in.

The guard unlocked the barred door and shoved the prisoner in, shouting 'Cell 159 open! Prisoner 3224 in!' as he did so to alert the warden, who acknowledged the shout as the door was locked behind the prisoner, cutting him off from the outside world and remitting him into prison life.

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This is some coursework from a year or so ago. I figured it would make a good thing to post first off... hey, could be worse... I could've writen a poem!

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